


Knight, Crow and Game

by CastielsCarma



Series: Destiel FanFiction Bingo 2018 [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, Bickering, Cas is even more confident, Dean is confident, Knight!Dean, M/M, Sam doesn't get the game, Soldier kind of! Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 11:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17559491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: Dean Winchester, member of the Queensguard is out investigating a disappearance with his brother Samuel, there to chronicle the events. While searching the area they stumble upon a soldier named Cas, or rather Cas stumbles upon them.  Who will have the upper hand, what will happen next and where did Sam go?Hope you enjoy!





	Knight, Crow and Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emblue_Sparks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emblue_Sparks/gifts).



> This is my contribution to the Destiel Fanfiction Bingo. I could choose prompt freely this time or use the prompt Soulmate. I also had a theme I had to adhere to: Adventure. I made up my own prompt called: Dean Winchester takes things way too seriously!
> 
> This piece is a gift for you, Em =)

“How long do we have to be in this...muck?” Samuel Winchester took a step on what he thought was solid ground only to sink down again in the thick mud. With a heavy sigh, he pulled his leg up again and grimaced at the grimy residue tarnishing his boot. 

Dean eyed him and tried not to shake his head in annoyance. There had been heavy rain the night prior but it was nothing that concerned him. He was more concerned about his mission, their mission. “It's not muck, it's called mud, Sam. Do you see any horses around here?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, and his face was set in that look that Dean knew all too well. The one that Sam thought conveyed that Dean was in trouble where in reality it only made Sam look like a whiny man-child. It was the same face he had worn when Dean had used that powder on Sam's clothes, making him itch all over, or when Dean had claimed he most definitely hadn't pilfered any of mother Winchester's pie while a huge glob of jam was on his chin. Or when Dean had told Sam there had been a monster in his closet when he was a kid, before Dean had discovered that some monsters most certainly were real.

Grinding his teeth together Sam fiddled with his wrist guards and then pulled at his cloak. “I don't understand why we couldn't get any horses?”, Sam muttered. “All we have done so far is walk. How am I supposed to write anything down while walking?”

Scoffing at Sam's sullen tone, Dean still had a watchful eye on their surroundings. He knew the Queen's camp was well guarded and she had some of the best knights in the kingdom protecting her but there had been recent signs of trouble. Small signs; coffins being moved, a map that had vanished and this morning on the day of their supposed departure one of the scullery maids, Lisa Brendwyn went missing. It could have been her having some fun with one of the knights but the weather hardly encouraged amorous forays in the woods and if that had been the case she would have been back by now.

Adjusting his hood so it fell neatly over his shoulders, Dean continued to walk on the narrow path meandering its way into the forest. The tracking dogs hadn't found anything useful due to the rain obscuring all scents but the rain had turned the earth wet and slippery so he was hoping to catch tracks of something. The ride to the Sol City, the Queen's summer residence, was three days traveling and Dean was eager to be on his way but Queen Charlie Bradia had demanded a thorough search and he was not one to disobey commands, at least not commands that made sense.

Dean glanced at his brother. “You wanted to come with, you are with. I told you there would be walking.”

Removing his thin gloves and attaching them to his belt, Sam procured a small book and a stubby pencil. “I thought I would be back at camp, walking among I don't know, soldiers and heroes and warm campfires. How can I write something when we are out chasing...what? What are we chasing? Ghosts and rumors. Dean Winchester is the kingdom's most stubborn knight, how about that for a story?”

Spitting at the ground, Dean flashed his younger brother a smile. “You are not wrong there Sammy, but there's a reason I'm favored by the Queen. Besides, do you really think the Queen would let you be near her? She doesn't know you, you haven't sworn any oaths, well besides _that_ one anyway; why would she trust you to be in her presence alone?”

Sam brushed some stray branches away from his face. “I don't know, maybe because she trusts you?”

“That she does. I'm kind of vouching for you here, Sammy, so you are with me.” 

“You could have warned me, you know.”

Dean smiled again. “And have you miss out on all the fun? Hardly.”

Walking in silence for a while, Dean suddenly raised a hand when the muddy path forked in two directions. He turned around, holding one finger to his mouth. Sighing, Sam stoved away his small book and pen and approached Dean with what he hoped was an interesting expression. He couldn't wait to get back to the camp and for the Queen to arrive at her cursed city so his life could get back to normal.   
“Why are we stopping?”

Dean motioned towards the mud, pointing a finger at something that looked like a coin.

“A coin? Should I write this down? Will this make me famous?”

“Sun burn me, how should I know? You are the one supposedly being a chronicler, so write this down. Scribble away!”

Bending down, Dean picked the coin up and flipped it over. Smiling when he saw the emblem on the back, he turned to Sam. “Gotch'ya.”

“What does it mean?” Sam took the coin from Dean and looked at the emblem. “It looks like some kind of torch? A weird arrow?” 

Grabbing the coin from Sam's hands Dean looked at him with disgust. “You said you were from the School of Dimuk? Light, this is a crow's foot. Sure doesn't sound like you are an elite scholar. Did you really pass all the tests?” 

“Hey, there was nothing about this in the scr-- “

Dean's finger went against Sam's mouth. “Scrolls?” His eyes narrowed in warning.

Sighing in frustration, Sam mumbled. “There was nothing about this in the scrolls.”

Satisfied with the answer, Dean turned around. “Let us search for more clues. If this coin was dropped here, it means the Crows are nearby. This can't be a coincidence. The Queen is on her way to Sol City, the kidnapping of the scullery wench, this coin. It's all connected, Sammy.” He unsheathed his sword and grasped it with a farm hand. “Be ready with your weapon.”

Sam reached for the knife dangling from a belt around his hip. “I don't know if this deserves to be called a weapon. My fighting skills are... acceptable but I hardly think this little needle will help.”

Dean glanced at Sam's purple patch attached to his tunic. “I don't think they will confuse you for a fighter anytime soon, Sammy. But that little needle as you call it, can poke a man's eye out. Stab him in the jugular and they are dead on the ground before you can blink. They just have to bleed a bit. Then they are dead.”

“Sure... Stab them with the pointy end?”

Dean just sighed and turned around, leading Sam deeper into the forest.

The trees were denser this far into the woods and as they followed the mud path, it narrowed so much in places that walking next to each other was done with great difficulty. After getting one too many stingy kisses from wayward branches, Dean had enough. “You cover me, Sammy.”

Sam raised his knife, casting glances to the left and right.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm on the lookout for... bandits?” There was a note of uncertainty in Sam's voice.

“If you can call a crazy light-blinded cult looking out to destabilize the whole kingdom for 'bandits', sure.”

It was not more than a few minutes later when Sam felt something against his back, pressing in hard and unyielding.

“Drop your knife. Do not try to play a hero, scholar or I will kill you.” The voice was smooth, each word reverberating through Sam. Not taking any chances he raised his hands and dropped his knife. It landed with a soft thud on the ground. Absentmindedly he noticed that it missed the mud, at least he had that going for him. “Call on your brother.” When Sam hesitated, he felt the pressure on his back increase.

“Dean! Behind you”, Sam shouted, waiting to see what Dean would do.

Turning around, Dean saw a man dressed in dark breeches, a dark tunic and boots in some soft leather hugging his calves. Even the chain mail covering his chest was made of some black material. Trying to discern some features on the man seemed impossible, as his hood was pulled up cloaking him in shadows; the thick density of the forest stopped closed of the sun's exposing light as if doing its best to aid him. 

Cursing, Dean started walking towards the stranger.

The man would have none of it. Quickly he draped his arm around Sam's throat, pressing the blade to the soft skin on his throat.

“Do not even think it. Drop the sword.” His voice was matter of fact like he excepted obedience and was just waiting for Dean to realize he was in the right. He pointed to some thick shrubbery with a gloved hand and Dean tossed his sword.

“You are making a mistake. The Queensguard is close by but that is the least of your concerns. I'm Dean Winchester.”

“Fascinating”, the other man drawled and beckoned Dean to come closer. When he deemed Dean was close enough he put his hand up. “Now toss the blade too and if you even think of aiming it on me, your brother dies.”

Eyes narrowing, Dean slowly took out his blade, hidden in a sheath on his back and brought it out in the open. He dropped the blade in the shrubbery and kept his hands up. 

“What now?”, Dean asked trying to hide the anger from his voice. He wasn't really angry at Sam, more so the anger was directed at himself. He should have known better than take his brother with him, but the Queen demanded Sam was to be accompanied by someone experienced. Little good that experience did him now.

“Come closer, and give me back the coin, _Dean_. And if you try any trickery, I'll cut your brother with the 'pointy end' as he so eloquently put it.” The stranger spoke loudly and with confidence, apparently not afraid to be overheard.

Walking over to the man, Dean looked at him. His face was shadowed by the cloak's hood making it impossible for Dean to recognize any features. Glancing up at Sam, his brother seemed to be taking the current events surprisingly well, maybe too well.

“I'll trade” the man spoke, calm and measured. “You for him. Stop right there.” The man pointed a distance away, just out of Dean's reach. “Now throw it to me.”

Dean did as he was told and the stranger caught the coin with ease, still pressing the blade against Sam's throat with one hand. “Not my intention to drop the coin, so thanks for retrieving it.” He stowed it away quickly, in a hidden pocket. “Now come here, like a good little boy and I'll let your brother go.”

Bristling at the tone, Dean took a step forward, calm and measured as not to startle the man or maybe it was to stop himself from punching him, Dean was not sure.

The man grabbed Dean's arm and yanked him forward, as he pushed Sam away in another direction. Dean could feel the blade, the tip pushing at a soft point in his neck. Being this close to the light-cursed stranger he had the opportunity to take a good look at him, despite his hood. A face that was handsome, Dean reluctantly had to admit, with a strong nose, light stubble dusted on his chin and jawline and eyes the most striking blue color. Still didn't change the fact that he was a blazing fool.

“Remove your wrist guards and then raise your arms, Dean.” 

Dean untied the wrist guards, annoyance written all over his face. He glanced at the stranger's own wrist guards, the black crow etched into the leather. Offering up his underarms the stranger quickly dropped the blade, only to have a thick leather cord in hand. With efficient and precise movements Dean's wrists and arms were soon tied up, not haphazardly but done with care, the rope even forming a pretty pattern.

Dean spat on the ground. “So now what, Crowfool? You see my colors? The Queensguard will have your hide.”

A firm hand pushed him in the back, motioning him to walk forward. “I look forward to it. Will your scholarly brother make a run for it or will he join us?”

Sam hesitated, looking at Dean until he nodded imperceptibly. “I will... make a run for it?” The statement was more of a question and Dean saw hesitation in Sam's steps. He nodded towards the right direction where the Queen was encamped and Sam was off. 

“I pray to the Darkness that he doesn't stumble and break his neck or maybe I should offer prayers for him to actually find the camp? ” The stranger shoved Dean ahead of him and together the two went deeper into the forest.

“Why you let him go? And I'm surprised scum like you pray? You have no honorable bone in your body.” Dean could feel the man behind him, like a shadow looming over him and his neck prickled in warning. Too late for that warning, neck, Dean thought dissatisfied. 

“Says the man who serves a Queen responsible for the slaughter at Kashok.” After a brief pause, the man spoke again. “So, you are Dean Winchester, had some fame attached to the name you said? Can't say your name brings anything special to the forefront of my mind.” 

Dean tried to ignore him. A search party was probably on their way. A scullery maid disappearing was one thing, but one of the Queensguard gone missing would set the camp on highest alert. The crunch of leaves under their boots and some birds chirping was the only sound that accompanied them for a while. Dean flexed his arms, testing the bindings but they were solid. He could see the man at the corner of his eye; his hood was up again. 

“You should know me, filthy crow, “ Dean finally spoke. “I killed your leader remember.” He spat for emphasis. 

“It's Cas.” The voice behind him was amused.

“What?”

“It's not filthy crow, crow fool, dark master or any other of the countless names you like to call us. Although I do admit the last name has a certain flair to it. Master.” He chuckled. “It's just Cas.”

Dean didn't even try to hide his contempt but stopped a sharp retort on his tongue when he remembered something. “My name, you knew my name before I introduced myself.”

“What can I say? You are famous, Dean. Or maybe I'm just good at listening, at extracting the information I need. But you will find that out for yourself soon, boy.”

Cas' voice was still calm and collected but Dean didn't miss the undercurrent of amusement, lingering there with each word. What did he think was so fucking amusing? It shouldn't have bothered Dean, Cas clearly had the upper hand or so he thought, so he had every reason to feel confident. The last word though made Dean see red. Against better judgment he stopped, feeling the sharp poke of the blade against his back. He turned around, green eyes blazing in anger.

“I'm no boy”, he hissed.

There was a flash of uncertainty in Cas' blue eyes, and for a brief moment Dean thought Cas searched his face for something, then he was all hard angles again.

“Then be a good little prisoner and stop angering your captor.” Cas lowered his swords-arm as his other hand went up and grabbed Dean by the chin. His blue eyes sparkled with mirth, but the harsh grip on Dean still conveyed the severity behind his words. 

They were in such close proximity that Dean's bound arms pressed against Cas' stomach and lower abdomen. His eyes were extraordinary, Dean thought, and then a sudden flash of heat passed through him. Dean tried to exhale slowly but the air coming out through his nose was forceful and Cas' eyes noticed the sudden rise of his chest.

Dean wished that his arms were free so he could punch the smirk of the Crow's face but Cas lowered his hand, letting go of Dean's chin. He tilted his head to the side, observing him. “I meant my previous words, that Crow-leader was not someone I followed.” He pressed himself closer to Dean, his mouth near Dean's ear and his next words were a mere whisper. “You can say, I just recently joined the cause.” 

Cas' warm breath ghosting over him made the hair on Dean's neck stand up and much to his angry horror his cock agreed with the sentiment, trying to breach the confinement of his pants. Cas chuckled, and his fingers went to Dean's tied arms, inspecting the bindings. Dean took a breath, trying to calm himself down.

Dean was not sure if the blasted fool did so with purpose but as his fingers went over the knots, he pulled on them making sure Dean was secure which resulted in Dean's hands being subtly yanked towards his groin. Swallowing to wet his dry mouth, Dean decided that he should speak, do something to break the tension before he snapped. 

Clearing his voice, Dean tried to fill it with contempt. “You a mercenary?” His question came out hoarse and raspy instead. 

Satisfied with the ties, Cas pulled at his arms one last time and looked at Dean. There was a smile playing on his lips. “I am. Does the boy knight of the Guard not approve of such vile men?” 

Dean straightened himself. He had a cutting retort on his tongue about mercenaries lecturing knights about honor and civility but he was not sure it was wise of him to speak freely. He glanced at the weapon still in Cas' hand and tried to convince himself that was the sole reason for his thinking and not one born out of fear; fear for what his own actions and words might cause. 

“I could care less of what you call it! May the Darkness swallow you whole,” he gritted out. 

Raising an eyebrow at Dean's outburst, Cas spoke softly: “The Darkness, the Light, I serve myself only.”A smile curved at his lips and Cas raised his hand towards Dean's face. A finger swiped at his chin. “Can't have the honorable knight walk around with spittle now, can we?”.  
After a moment's pause Cas' grabbed a knife from his belt. Dean steeled himself, instantly on alert and ready to kick Cas, use his bound arms like a fucking sledgehammer, anything to dislodge that weapon from his hands.

Apparently, Cas had caught the slight tension in Dean' stance cause his put his hands on Dean's arms, placating him like a wild horse. “Easy there, Dean. No reason to act like an ant has crawled up your ass.”

Dean glared at him but his angry scowl turned to surprise when he saw the blade hoover near the knots.

“You swear on your _honor_ ”, Cas smirked at the word, “that you won't try to escape me?” 

A number of various thoughts flashed through Dean's head but his answer was instinctual, a gut feeling that had saved him from certain death in countless battlefields. “I swear on my honor as a Knight of the Queensguard.”

He could feel the knots of the leather cord come undone. 

“There. Now this sword can still be shoved up somewhere painful so I'd not act rash. Understood?”

Rubbing his wrists was more an act than anything else; to Dean's surprise, he was not in any pain that he could tell. Some mild discomfort was all the evidence of Dean ever being captured. That and his tarnished knighthood self but he supposed he could live with that. Cas would die soon enough.

Nodding at Cas' question, Dean looked him over. “So do all mercenaries were black?”

“Do all pretty boys blush when captured?” Cas was in his space again, and Dean could feel the heat radiate from him, or maybe it was his own body that was on fire. All Dean was sure of was that it was hot, like the Light itself was surrounding him. Cas' blue eyes narrowed and he licked his lips. Catching the action with his eyes, Dean swiftly turned his gaze elsewhere, up, only to land on Cas' blue vivid eyes. 

The corner of his eyes crinkled in amusement. “I think the answer is obvious. Move along, we are almost there.” A hand pushed at his shoulder, urging him to turn around. Dean huffed out an angry breath and clenched his hands. By the Light, if Cas said one more thing, sword be damned he would jump him.

“You swore an oath, Dean. Now move.” Cas' grip on the sword-hilt tightened and all traces of humor on his face were gone, replaced by steely determination. 

Dean knew exactly the boundaries of his oath, but burn Cas to ashes, he sure didn't make it easy on him. What else could you expect from an ass of a mercenary? He figured just voicing his thoughts in a well-mannered conversation would not be considered a breach. He wasn't going anywhere so.

“I said I wouldn't escape, but I'm not coming with you either.” Dean crossed his arms, finding a childish pleasure in even being able to do so, now that his arms were unbound and free.

Immediately Cas stepped forward, closing all distance between them. “Do not try my patience, Dean.” His breath was hot on Dean's face and it was as if his body remembered the feeling of Cas, the mere presence of him eliciting desire and the need for more, not quite sure what that more would entail. Dean's cock definitely remembered the feeling and Dean had to bite his tongue to stop the moan threatening to escape him as he hardened. “Only bad knights, _mercenaries_ break oaths. And I'm confident you are a good little knight who should stop acting out and do as he is told.” 

The notion of not responding back, of stopping what they were doing didn't cross Dean's mind, not once. “I swear on the Queen and the Light if you don't shut up I will show you what a bad knight I can be.”

Cas scoffed. “Pray tell, Dean Winchester, what you are going to do?” He glanced down quickly, eyes lingering on his groin. “You don't even have a _sword_.”  
Dean flexed his fingers and all the palpable desire he felt transformed into angry, tightly coiled energy, wrapped up in his fist. “I might not have a sword, but I have this.” His retracted his elbow quickly and punched Cas straight in the face.

 

The Queen, Charlie Bradia, the first of her name, was not happy. Luckily, the royal tent was empty of servants, the only current occupants being herself, Dean and Cas. “Dean Winchester, I can't believe you did this! You are not a noob, and this is not your first time. You do not punch other players.”

Dean sighed. He really didn't have a good answer for that, no defense, cause it was all true.  
“ I'm, sorry, Charlie.” He tried to recollect his thoughts to where things had gone wrong but all he was left with was the undeniable truth that he had found Cas hot for whatever reason and that the usual role-play banter had gotten under his skin. More specifically, _Cas_ had gotten under his skin.

Charlie turned her attention to Cas. “I see you have a pretty good black eye there, Cas,” Charlie said, a disapproving note in her voice.

“Well,” Cas retorted, smirking at Dean, “it's better than having blue balls.”

Looking back in confusion at Dean, she turned back to Cas when Dean just shook his head, not offering an explanation. “I'm so sorry, Castiel. This will not happen again, and thank you for not um... pressing charges.”

Cas chuckled, waving away her apology. “I would never, my Queen. I'm sure me and Dean can talk this through and make sure this occurrence will be the first and the last one.”

Exhaling a heavy breath, Charlie got up and looked at the two men. “I trust you two solve this like gentlemen. Dean, try and _not_ act like Tyler Durden while I'm gone, OK?”

Dean nodded and watched the tent-flap close after Charlie as she left.

As soon as she was gone, Cas got up from his sitting position on the floor and walked up to Dean. The black eye, blue and dark splotches encircling his eye, made a disturbing color splash to all the black garments he was still wearing.

“Look, Cas, if that's your real name. I'm sorry. I took things too far, I shouldn't have.” He waited for Cas to say something back, but the man looked at him in silence, as if Dean was a puzzle he needed to solve.

His voice was calm, and tinged with amusement.“I don't think you took things far _enough_.” 

Dean would love to know what Cas found so damn funny all the time but that didn't change the fact that even out of the game, his voice did things to Dean and he cursed himself internally. Suddenly it hit him what Cas had actually said. All he could muster was a weak “What?”

“I felt _something_ between us. I'd like to examine this further. Together with you Dean,” Cas added when he saw Dean' confused look. “If you are from around here, how about next Saturday around noon? Lunch?” He flashed a smile, confident as ever. 

“Uh-uh.”

“Here is my number.” Cas turned around, grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and made some scribbles. He extended his hand, holding the note. 

“I punched you!” Dean objected, debating if he should take the number or not. He really wanted to take it even though Cas had acted like a dick during the role play. A hot dick, but dickish behavior it was nonetheless. But then again Dean had punched him so that sort of made him a dick too.

“That you did.”

Dean cursed himself but took the note, scrunching it up and when he realized he didn't have anywhere to put it, he wrapped his fist around it, letting his arm hang casually down by his side.

“Don't worry about the punch, Dean. I did press your buttons after all.” He glanced at the scrunched up paper. “Seriously, call me. You seem like a nice guy.” Cas flashed Dean another smile, taking a step towards him. “Don't forget that ball –“ Cas made a slight pause.

“Ball-?” Just that single word made Dean's blood run hot, and he licked his lip, taking in Cas' eyes, his satisfied smile.

“Ball of paper, Dean. With my number.”

“Yeah, of course.” Dean's answer was a hoarse whisper.

“Of course,”, Cas repeated. He turned around. “Goodbye, Dean”. 

As he walked out of the tent, Dean's mind scrambled to make sense of it all. He opened his palm and smoothed out the scrunchy paper. Saturday it was.


End file.
